


Sky is No Limit

by 06seconds_left



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/06seconds_left/pseuds/06seconds_left
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For he who stands at the very top, what else is there to achieve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sky is No Limit

> _  
>  We think the flower on the precipice is beautiful   
> _
> 
> _  
>  because our fear make our feet stop at its edge   
> _
> 
> _  
>  instead of stepping forward into the sky   
> _
> 
> _  
>  like that flower.   
> _
> 
> \--Aizen's volume poem, as translated by [halcyonjazz](http://halcyonjazz.livejournal.com/).  
> 

\---

By the end of his first year at the academy, Aizen realises something.

He is standing at the porch of his room, watching the sun as it sets behind the rooftops. On his table, to his left, his assessment report is lying open, flipped to the page where his finals exam results are written. There are small red circles next to each subject; a perfect score. At the bottom left corner, long brush strokes spell out his teachers’ commendations, for reference when he graduates in the future.

Aizen sighs.

Everything is just too easy.

\---

Aizen sweeps under the desk one last time before pushing the chair in. He dumps the dust unceremoniously into the black plastic bag by the corner, carries it outside and slides the door shut. He is about to lock the door when a crash rings out from down the hallway.

Turning in that direction, he debates investigating against just leaving and getting some sleep, leaning heavily towards the latter; it has been an exhausting day, and lab cleanup after the third years this time was even more of a pain than usual because despite everything, it seems even the more senior students of the academy still enjoyed whole days dedicated to making things go ‘boom.’

Finally, he sets the broom against the wall and walks towards the research room.What he finds there is a lone shinigami bent over one of the tables, his stool lying flat on the floor while he inspects something that Aizen can’t quite make out from where he is standing.

He knocks. “Good evening, Kurotsuchi-senpai.”

In lieu of an answer, the fourth year student waves a hand at him, beckoning him over. Aizen approaches the table gingerly, eyeing the object of analysis sitting on the table. With a small start, he realizes that the shinigami is examining a jar filled with what looks suspiciously like body cells.

“Look,” Kurotsuchi says and casually flexes his left arm. 

Aizen watches in morbid fascination as the muscles in the jar follows suit, contracting and relaxing in eerie synchronization.

“See how smoothly it moves,” Kurotsuchi coos, “Even separated, the connection between the cells and the main body remains unaffected. All I had to do was concentrate some reiatsu near the target area prior to removing it and now look. It works perfectly.”

“Amazing,” Aizen comments politely, still watching the twitching cells.

“Indeed!” he exclaims, hopping back into his seat and scribbling furiously in a small red notebook lying next to the jar. “And with the regenerative medicine and healing spells available, I could have a thousand copies of the same cells to study from, instead of just the one original specimen. Experimentation would be so much easier. New discoveries would be made every day.” The writing pauses as Kurotsuchi looks up, deep in thought. “Of course, the copies would be exactly alike, which rules out diversity. And no amount of reiatsu would be enough to sustain a whole copy of an individual so that’s still a problem.”

Aizen listens patiently, squinting at the notebook; Kurotsuchi’s handwriting is fairly decent on normal occasions but when he believes he’s discovered something particularly interesting, it becomes, to put it mildly, horrendous. “What,” he finally asks, cutting neatly through the other shinigami’s rambling, “is the point?”

Tilting his head slightly, Kurotsuchi looks at him, quizzical. “Hmm?”

“I mean, what exactly are you trying to accomplish?” he clarifies, gesturing at the jar of floating body cells. 

“I have no idea.” The answer is unexpected and Aizen can feel it showing on his face before he can stop it. Kurotsuchi seems to note the surprise, because he puts his pen down and continues. “I’m experimenting, Aizen-kun. I don’t _have_ to know what I’m trying to figure out.”

“But surely you must have something in mind?”

Kurotsuchi taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let me put it this way then: I’m studying to find out what I _don’t_ know.”

Aizen contemplates the answer. “So you would admit there are things you don’t know? That’s rather peculiar.”

“What’s so peculiar about that?” Kurotsuchi questions, angling his head to look at him sideways. “I’m not perfect, neither physically nor mentally, and no amount of studying will ever change that. I can dedicate a thousand years to research and still be certain that there is more knowledge hovering just out of my reach. After all,” he adds, the telltale beginnings of a smirk creeping into his features, “there is no such thing as perfection.”

Something about the last sentence irritates him; Aizen smiles with practiced ease, two years of flawless academy records lifting his lips effortlessly, soothing his nerves. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Grin deepening into a full-fledged knowing smirk, Kurotsuchi turns away, waving a hand at him dismissively. “Well, you’ll see.”

\---

The challenge follows him all the way back to his room, like a shadow attached to his feet; it slips between the sentences of his textbooks, swimming in his tea, breathing down his neck in the bath. It gets to the point where Aizen starts hearing the words echo in his room, bouncing back and forth on the walls in what he soon recognizes as his own voice, repeating the words like a haunting mantra over and over again.

Frustrated, he tosses his book to one side, unrolls his futon, and decides to settle in for the night.

Almost immediately, he dreams of floating.

He is drifting aimlessly in the night sky, occasionally coming close enough to a cloud that the soft wisps of vapour leave a trail of moisture on his skin. A gentle wind brushes by, drying and cooling his skin. The sky is dark blue for as far as he can see, an endless stretch of space around him. Directly above him, a full moon hangs serenely in the sky.

When he tries to move, his limbs remain unresponsive, hanging limply at his side. All he can do is gaze upwards into eternity.

Aizen blinks, once; he remembers this dream.

“--?”

At the sound, he tries to turn, a reflex reaction before remembering that he cannot move. He concentrates on the voice, straining to make out the words.

Something creeps closer towards him, a heavy presence that he cannot see crawling in the space around him until it is directly underneath him, buzzing with what feels like disproval. 

“--?”

Aizen blinks again, and finds himself staring at the ceiling of his academy room.

He sits up, eyeing the sunlight spilling in through the cracks of his curtain, painting the walls a dark orange. Outside, footsteps pad quietly past his room, morning talk filling the air in the form of excited whispers; today, the results of the latest exams will be released. 

Forcing his legs to move, he pulls off the covers of his futon and heads towards the bath.

By the time he gets to class, everyone is looking at him knowingly, a meaningful smile playing on each face. One of his classmates approaches him, clapping him on the back. “Nervous, Aizen?” he asks, smirking wide.

He gives a small laugh. “A little, yes.”

“Heh. Don’t you believe it,” pipes another shinigami, grinning good-naturedly. “He’s just being modest. Isn’t that right?”

“Actually,” he begins, letting his features crease in worry, “I wasn’t too sure about question 28. I know the textbooks described the best strategy in detail in the fifth chapter but I think, in a situation like that, the solution described in page 116 is more appropriate. Don’t you agree?” he asks, looking to them.

The other two students are laughing, shaking their heads at him. “Alright, alright. Enough of that. Let’s just get to class so everyone can see you get top marks again, okay? Come on.”

Later in the evening, his class gathers together to confirm their plans; they’re going drinking to celebrate another semester of success. Everyone passed, they say, and this time with better scores than before. 

“Of course,” one of the girls says, looking mischievously in his direction, “no one did better than Aizen-kun.”

Someone else slings an arm around his shoulder. “That goes without saying, I’m sure. How about it then? Are you going to join us this time?”

Aizen smiles apologetically. “Sorry. I’m not feeling too well today. Maybe next time.”

They protest, keeping up a torrent of persistent invitations. He stands firm, refusing politely every time.

Once he’s back in his room, he takes off his waraji and closes the door quietly behind him. He sets his books down on his study desk, piling them on top of each other in a neat stack. Then he stands in the middle of his room, listening; with everyone out celebrating, the academy is a lot quieter than usual today.

Finally, he looks down at his results sheet, reading and rereading the numbers; another perfect score.

Aizen sighs and carefully slips his results into the small drawer at the side of his table. Then, he makes himself some tea.

\---

The months drag by, uneventful. Aizen waits eagerly for every new topic they learn only to be disappointed halfway. He knows the textbooks by heart; he can quote the teachers almost word for word. The monthly tests are ridiculously easy; the field exercises like child’s play. He drifts from day to day with faux energy, his body listless, his mind bored.

At night, he dreams.

It’s the same one every time; endless night skies, him hovering in space, a foreboding presence hanging right behind him.

“What?” he calls out, feeling the anger in the incoherent words. “What is it?”

“--?”

He grits his teeth. “I can’t hear you.”

\---

The next time he runs into Kurotsuchi is in the library. Aizen is browsing the shelves, looking for something interesting to read for the upcoming weekend when he turns a corner and nearly trips over the shinigami sitting cross-legged there.

He backpedals instantly, apologizing profusely.

Kurotsuchi gives him a bored look and returns to his book.

After a moment’s hesitation, he steps around the shinigami and continues his search, determinedly ignoring the chanting that has started again at the back of his mind. 

Suddenly, Kurotsuchi speaks. “It’s going too smoothly.”

Aizen stops, one hand stilled on the spine of a potentially good read. “Your experiment?”

“Yes,” is the short reply.

“That’s a good thing, right?” he hazards.

“What good is that? It’ll be done in about a week and then I’ll have to find something else to do.” Kurotsuchi shuts his own book with a loud snap, breathing out a heavy dissatisfied sigh. “Now if the academy had a proper research community, things would be different. Instead I’m stuck here, doing absolutely nothing interesting. “

Aizen stares for a moment, studying the uncharacteristic melancholy the other shinigami is exuding. Turning back to the shelves, he pulls out the book he wants and walks over, crouching so that he is at eye level with the senior student. “Actually, I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

At that, Kurotsuchi looks at him, considering. Finally, he nods a little, as if to himself. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath. “I think I’m having some trouble with my zanpakutou.”

Kurotsuchi wants to know everything about it. What did the voice sound like? What was the scenery around him? What emotions did he feel when he first had the dream? What is the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep? How long has this been going on?

He answers them all to the best of his ability, watching as the pen jots down sentence after sentence in the small notebook Kurotsuchi seems to carry around with him.

“What I don’t understand,” Aizen says when the questions finally stop, watching idly as Kurotsuchi flips through the pages in contemplative silence, “is why he’s being so obstinate about it.”

Kurotsuchi smirks at him. “Well, the zanpakutou is technically an innate part of us. It’s only natural that they take on certain traits of our personalities.”

He ignores the jibe. “Then why bother coming out at all?”

“Because it’s time,” Kurotsuchi replies simply. “But you’re a little mistaken. The fact that you can’t hear him isn’t his fault. It’s _yours_.”

Aizen falls silent, digesting this.

The other shinigami leans back, watching him until Aizen meets his gaze. “Sometimes, to know where you stand, you have to bow first.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, rising to stand. “Thank you for everything, senpai. I am indebted to you.”

“Forget about it.” He returns to studying his notes, rereading the latest entries. After a while, he continues. “I guess it’s fair to say I was a little wrong about you.”

He pauses. “What do you mean?”

Kurotsuchi turns, smirking. “Looks like you’re not so perfect after all.”

Aizen keeps his features steady. “I never claimed I was,” he replies, picking up his library book and walking towards the door. He stills, one hand on the door grip and looks back. “You know, there’s always vivisection.”

Kurotsuchi scoffs. “The breakdown of Hollows is trite. And boring on top of that.”

“I wasn’t referring to Hollows.”

At that, Kurotsuchi turns sharply. There seems to be an automatic warning on his lips, ready to reprimand but Aizen can see the gears moving as he considers it, exploring the possibilities that could come with it. Slowly, his lips curve into a thoughtful smile and when Kurotsuchi looks at him again, all Aizen can see is eager curiousity. “That’s a rather nasty mind you have there, Aizen-kun.”

He shrugs a little, rolling his shoulders innocently. “Of course, that’s against the rules,” he says.

Kurotsuchi’s grin stretches wide. “Of course,” he echoes.

“Thank you again, Kurotsuchi-senpai,” he inclines his head respectfully one last time but when he straightens, the other shinigami is no longer looking at him, writing furiously in his notebook.

Aizen closes the door.

That night, when he finds himself in the sky again, he keeps calm. The atmosphere feels different, like time has frozen completely.

But the presence is there; Aizen can feel it watching him.

“Alright,” he says. “Show me.”

Something stirs, moving towards him.

“Show me,” he repeats, feeling the presence hum in response, “what I don’t know.”

All of a sudden, the world comes alive. He staggers as the sky tilts around him, unbalancing him and just like that, he begins to fall. The wind rushes up to meet him, blasting in his ears, sweeping dust into his eyes, his mouth. Energy cackles in the air and the world tenses; a presence, pulsing around him and wrapping about him so tightly that he starts to suffocate.

Aizen keeps calm, forcing his breathing to be even.

The presence tightens its grip, until—

“Are you satisfied?”

He flinches and suddenly Aizen is standing on the ground, gazing up at the moon. He jerks back, the sudden change washing him in vertigo and he staggers, shaking his head to clear it.

There is someone standing behind him.

Slowly, he turns around.

His zanpakutou grins at him. “Finally.”

\---

Aizen learns a lot from his sword. For one thing, he learns his zanpakutou’s name.

“Kyouka Suigetsu,” the aged man says, leaning against his cane as he bends down to pick one of the shiny transparent flowers by his feet. When he straightens, he releases the flower, watching it sail away into the sky. “Learn it well.”

There are other lessons too. Sometimes they duel, polishing his already nearly-flawless zanjushou. Sometimes he teaches Aizen some tricks to managing his reiatsu. Other times, they simply talk, taking languid strolls under the midnight sky.

“This world is a mirror, Sousuke,” his zanpakutou tells him one day, skipping along next to him. 

Aizen forces himself to pay attention, a difficult task when his mentor is only as tall as his waist and is hopping about like an over-excited rabbit. “A mirror?”

“Right,” he chirps brightly. “What you see here is a reflection of your innermost soul. Everything you see here represents an important part of you. So if you want to get stronger, you have to learn about everything.”

“I see,” he says, still trying. Up down up down.

Kyouka Suigetsu comes to an abrupt halt in front of him. “Look around you,” he says. “What do you see?”

Aizen looks, taking in the endless stretches of land, the occasional shimmer of those strange flowers that seem to grow in patches, the infinite dark sky, and the unchanging glow of the full moon. He shakes his head, not understanding. “There’s nothing here.”

His zanpakutou is watching Aizen with brown eyes suddenly too intense for such a young face, such an innocent smile. “Are you satisfied?”

\---

He breezes through another semester’s worth of tests, effortlessly acing the finals yet again. In the academy, everywhere he turns, the teachers know his name and his fellow students recognize his face, greeting him with smiles. He collects recommendations easily, filling the drawer of his desk with sheets of perfection, one on top of the other. His reputation grows like an addiction, easily seeping into everyone’s attention.

The voice murmurs quietly in a corner of his mind.

_"Are you satisfied, Sousuke?"_  


\---

One evening, he returns to his room to find Kurotsuchi waiting for him nearby. The shinigami is agitated, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor in erratic beats.

Aizen approaches cautiously. “Senpai? Was there something you needed?”

In a flash, Kurotsuchi is standing in front of him, one fist in his collar as he shoves him backwards. He stumbles, forcing himself against struggling, letting his limbs go limp even as Kurotsuchi chuckles maniacally to himself. There is a lunatic glow in his eyes and his smile is wild, one unlike Aizen has ever seen the senior shinigami wear before.

He keeps calm, his breathing even.

“Brilliant,” Kurotsuchi murmurs, his entire body shaking. “Absolutely brilliant. I’ve finally found something. The discoveries I’m making are just, they’re just—do you understand? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand, senpai,” he replies, looking Kurotsuchi straight in the eye. “I understand perfectly.”

Kurotsuchi goes completely still, and his eyes narrow into almost slits. “Do you? Do you really?”

Before he can reply, Kurotsuchi shoves him away and stomps off down the hallway, not once looking back. Aizen watches until he has turned a corner before looking away, fixing his uniform and bending down to pick up his books.

The day after, Kurotsuchi disappears.

\---

They’re dueling again, have been at it for hours now. Every muscle in his body aches, screaming in pain with every movement he makes. His legs aren’t responding as well anymore, slowing down so much that he can’t quite keep up with Kyouka Suigetsu’s fluid attacks. His vision blurs, swirling into a whirlpool of colours and blinding him; he is exhausted.

At some point, Aizen lets go of his sword and stands down.

Kyouka Suigetsu swerves sharply to the left, only barely managing to avoid a collision. He skids to a stop a distance away, glaring at Aizen in furious shock.

Aizen walks away.

At first, there is only startled silence. Then, hurried footsteps sound loudly behind him as Kyouka Suigetsu stomps closer. A hand grabs his shoulder, spinning him around until Aizen is staring straight into the livid eyes of his zanpakutou. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving,” he says.

“Look. You _asked_ for my help.”

“I did,” he concedes, “but I was mistaken.”

The glare intensifies. “What?”

“What’s the point?” he asks. “What’s the point in trying so hard? I’m already the best student the in the academy. I’ve seen the Gotei 13 leaders. I’ve even seen them fight in fair battles against each other. They’re _weak_ ,” he says, spitting out the word in disgust, letting his disappointment seep through his façade. “With the exception of the Captain-commander, I could defeat them all easily. All of them. What honour could I possibly stand to gain by joining them?”

Kyouka Suigetsu stares, his adolescent face blank. “Then don’t.”

“Then what else should I do?” he demands, feeling heat in his words. His eyes are on fire, his throat constricting—but his mind is dizzyingly clear, his train of thought undisturbed. His future flashes past him and he can see where the path he walks will take him, from academy to unseated to seated to lieutenant to captain. It’s easy, he thinks, and it’s _boring_.

“What do you see?”

He blinks, clearing his thoughts. “What?”

Kyouka Suigetsu, in the body of a teenager, is watching him with an unreadable expression. “What do you see?” he asks again. 

“Nothing!” he explodes, that one word bursting unexpectedly past his lips like lightning, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He tries to swallow around it but the taste only spreads further, leaking into the yawning hole in his chest. He realizes, belatedly, that he is shaking all over, his palm hurting from where his fingernails have left a row of crescent marks on his skin. Aizen closes his eyes, and tries to breathe, tries to calm down. “There’s nothing here,” he manages to say.

“Exactly.”

The answer is quiet. When Aizen open his eyes again, the child is no longer there. Instead, he finds himself staring directly at his reflection. The effect is dizzying and he almost stumbles, saved only by the hand on his arm, steadying him.

His doppelganger studies him intently. When he speaks, Aizen is slightly relieved to hear Kyouka Suigetsu’s voice. “You say there’s nothing for you here, and I believe you. There isn’t a single thing worth sticking around for. Not the academy, not the Gotei 13. Not even in the world of the shinigami. But that’s why I’m here. Don’t you see?”

Aizen tries to focus. “I don’t—”

“Are you satisfied?” he asks, the words resonating uncannily.

As Aizen watches, his reflection ripples, shifting from old to adolescent to young, to older. Kyouka Suigetsu changes faces every time he blinks, going through the masks so fast that all Aizen sees is a blur of features until finally, he is staring at his own face once more. “Well, Sousuke?”

He swallows. “No,” he says, the words like lead on his tongue. “I’m not.”

Kyouka Suigetsu nods. “There’s nothing here, but there can be.” He lets go, taking a step back. “Climb the skies, Sousuke. Climb to the very top. What awaits you there, where no one else has ever been?”

Aizen looks up, gazing at the moon hanging high above the layers of clouds, spiraling away from him in an endless vortex of midnight sky. He can hear the sound of his own breathing, quiet intakes of breath as he follows the trail higher into the sky, away from him.

Kurotsuchi’s words echo in his mind:

_"There is no such thing as perfection."_  


“We’ll see,” he murmurs, exhaling. To his zanpakutou, he asks, “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Kyouka Suigetsu answers and vanishes. “Whatever you wish. All I ask is that you find the will to leap across the obstacles in your way,” he continues, his voice resounding all around Aizen and suddenly, Aizen can feel him lean close, his breath tickling Aizen’s skin. “Leap, Sousuke, and I will follow.”

There is movement behind him and Aizen turns, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of Kyouka Suigetsu’s hungry smile before everything fades to black.

\---

Aizen stands at the edge of the cliff, enjoying the early morning breeze. His newly-received lieutenant badge is tied snugly around his left arm, the insignia of the fifth division carved neatly into it. 

Kyouka Suigetsu whispers to him. _“Are you satisfied yet, fukutaichou?”_

Aizen smiles. “Of course not.”

He touches his zanpakutou, feeling the energy hum in response; when he uncurls his fingers, a transparent flower rests on his palm, shimmering in the twilight. Raising his hand a little, he feels the wind brush past him, stealing away with the flower as it trails off into the sunrise.

“This is just the beginning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kyouka Suigetsu (鏡花水月) translates literally to 'mirror flower, water moon' both of which are things that cannot be touched, and in some ways, exist only as illusions.


End file.
